Whatever Means Necessary
by endless-fever
Summary: [SLC Punk!] Stevo's dealing. Sort of.


  
**Title;** Whatever Means Necessary   
**Author;** Diane (nuttynutgirl)   
**E-mail;** diane@barely-floating.net   
**Summary;** [SLC Punk!] Stevo's dealing. Sort of.   
**Spoilers;** If you haven't seen the movie, don't read this.   
**Notes;** This takes place after the movie. It involves drug usage. If that'll bother you, go somewhere else.   
**Thanks;** Sarah (Different Sarah than last time), Leanna, and Jay all took the time to read this before hand. Just as nervous about this one as the last one. 

That's it, so here we go: 

+++   
Whatever Means Necessary   
+++   
John is near tears, and Stevo pushes him out of the main room and into the kitchen where there's slightly less noise. Eddie suggested the party, showed up at the apartment at three in the morning, drunk, saying that Bob deserved more than half a dozen people in a church, and he agreed. Since it started, he's been running around, pretending to have it together when he knows he doesn't.   
  
"She gave them to him." John says, tears in his eyes. "I didn't say…" John swallows, looks at the ground. "It's my faul--"   
  
"Shut up." Stevo says it quick, harsh. He doesn't want to hear it anymore. "It's everyone's fault."   
  
John looks at him for a second, drunk, already, then back at the floor. Stevo puts his hands on John's shoulders, gets John to look him in the eyes.   
  
"We all could have done something, we didn't. It doesn't matter." For a minute, he can't look John in the eyes. "Tonight's not about that, okay? It's a celebration." He has to laugh then, because it's so damn stupid. So corny that he can't hold it in.   
  
John laughs, he drops his hands off his shoulders. He looks at the floor for a second, then pulls a small white plastic bag out of his pocket, and looks Stevo in the eyes. "Party?"   
  
A thousand and one things run through his head at once. He knows it's a stupid idea, but he nods his head anyway. John nods too, and leads him to the bathroom, where there's no chance of anyone walking in.   
  
He knows he should turn around, but instead he watches John cut it and separate out two neat lines. His stomach aches, he knows it's a bad idea. Bob fucking died from drugs, he knows it. But he also knows that Bob is dead and it hurts too damn badly.   
  
The dollar bill is in his hand, he's bent over, and he knows, he still has time to fight himself and stop before he does it. But it's too late, he's inhaled, his nose already feeling weird. He coughs and straightens up, handing the bill back to John, who's checking his face in the mirror. Stevo does the same. No mess.   
  
They head back out to the party. No one says anything about their little trip, they probably know what's going on. John finds his girlfriend, looks suddenly horny. He grabs Stevo's arm.   
  
"If you want more, find me." And then John is gone to some corner to all but fuck her in public.   
  
Stevo goes back into the kitchen, finds himself an empty cup and fills it with Jack. He's starting to feel good, starting to realize how good it was. His heart is already slamming in his chest.   
  
He's almost out of the kitchen when Eddie comes in. He had been trying to find Eddie all night. It's really kicking in, so he finds himself hugging Eddie. Eddie hugs him back, probably doesn't realize yet. He hands his drink to Eddie, turns to get himself another one.   
  
"You okay, Stevo?" Eddie asks, following him to the table.   
  
"I'm good."   
  
"How good?" The other voice stops him, makes him spill precious Jack on his hand when he turns around. He licks the liquor his fingers and looks at Brandy. He can't stop himself from smiling.   
  
"Pretty good." He knows he sounds high. He almost laughs as he offers her his second drink, and she takes it.   
  
He works on pouring the third, wondering if he'll ever have something to take the horrible taste out of his mouth. He takes a swig, fighting back a shudder and turns to really look at her for the first time. She looks just as beautiful, but concerned. She hasn't taken a drink yet.   
  
"I'm gonna…" Eddie says, and then he's out of the room.   
  
Stevo can't stand still, shifting his weight, passing the drink from hand to hand. She just watches him. He thinks he should say something, but thoughts are moving too fast now, and he thinks she knows he's high. For some reason, that bothers him. He has the sudden realization that he doesn't think she even smokes, let alone snorts coke. Her opinion of him suddenly matters most. Everything else doesn't count.   
  
"Are you mad at me?" He asks, knowing he sounds like a little kid.   
  
"Why would I be mad at you?"   
  
He can't look away from her eyes. He runs his free hand over his shaved head, can't get used to not finding hair there. "I'm pretty fucked up right now."   
  
"Yeah, I can see that."   
  
"You're not mad?"   
  
"It's your body."   
  
He nods to that, and wants to move around, suddenly wants to mosh, to throw shit, to hurt someone, hurt himself. The urge comes from no where, but he's starting to fixate on it.   
  
"Are you okay?" She asks.   
  
"Yeah. Just…"   
  
"Completely fucked up?" She finishes, smiling now. "I was actually talking about--"   
  
"I'm fine." He cuts her off, harsh. He sips his drink, realizes it's mostly gone. He's got a buzz building under the high. He's not sure if he'll be able to hold a conversation five minutes from now. He takes another sip.   
  
She just looks at him.   
  
He knows he'll never be able to lie to her. "It's fucked up, and I'm not good at all…But I'm dealing."   
  
"Yeah, by artificial means."   
  
He shrugs. "By whatever means necessary." It's a little difficult to say necessary, his tongue doesn't want to move right.   
  
She looks at him for a long time. He doesn't like the scrutiny. He drains his cup, and tries to figure out just how many shots he must have drank in less than a half-hour. He discovers that he doesn't really care. He makes a move to refill the cup, but Brandy grabs his hand.   
  
"Calm down for a little bit, okay?"   
  
He wants to say no, wants to tell her his plan is to get as fucked up as possible so he can breathe without his chest aching, but he can't. He just nods. He can admit that her concern feels good.   
  
Then he's kissing her and he doesn't even know who started it. Just that it feels nice, beyond nice. It feels good, and coupled with the drugs and the alcohol, he completely forgets where he is. He even forgets who he is.   
  
Something starts up, and for a little while he can't figure out what it is. Yelling, he realizes. Up until now it's been a relatively quiet party. Now, there's a lot of yelling. Brandy breaks away from him, looking into the main room. He looks too.   
  
Something rises, anger, and it's quick, hard, and very much out of his control. He's in the room, pushing through the people on the outside who want to stay out of the fray, and then he's hitting and being hit, and he knows he's drunk and he doesn't feel people hitting him or his fists has he hits other people. He doesn't even know who it is, just people who are beyond inconsiderate and stupid and he wants to kill every single one of them. It's not about ideals anymore, it's about anger. Maybe it always has been for him.   
  
He doesn't stop until Eddie screams his name in his ear and pulls him backwards. He had someone against the wall, hitting him hard. The guy's nose is definitely broken there's so much blood. Stevo trips over Eddie's foot, and falls on his ass, breathing heavy and trying to keep the glass of liquor in his stomach, and not all over the floor where it suddenly wants to be.   
  
The guy follows his buddies out of the apartment, tails between their legs. Stevo doesn't care. Eddie helps him stand, his legs feel shaky. There's a lot of people looking at him, and the air in the room feels too heavy.   
  
He's outside and in the alley between his building and the next before he throws up into the snow. He stands there, bent over, mind spinning in the opposite direction as the rest of the world, trying to get himself to breathe slowly. Blood hits the snow, and he doesn't even know where it's coming from.   
  
"Hey,"   
  
Her voice, hesitant, makes him straighten back up. He doesn't turn around to look at her.   
  
"Feel better?"   
  
He looks at her, but can't meet her eyes. "For what? Puking or beating the shit outta that guy?" He's still a little drunk, a little high. Not nearly enough of either.   
  
She shrugs. "Either, I guess."   
  
He doesn't respond, doesn't want to tell her the truth, that now he's sick, and he's pretty sure he broke something in his hand, and on top of it all, throwing up didn't do much to improve the horrible taste in the back of his throat. And Bob's still dead. He tries not to think about that last part.   
  
"Stevo…?" She says it like a question, still standing a good four feet away from him. Maybe she's afraid of him, he doesn't know. He really doesn't like that thought.   
  
"I'm sorry…" He starts, then doesn't know what exactly he's apologizing for.   
  
A flair of anger comes back. He just wants to not be standing in the snow feeling like an asshole for beating up someone that deserved it. How the hell could they have done that? Try to bust up a party when it was being held in honor of someone who died? And he's still angry over the fact that Bob died. He can't help it, he's mad at Bob, at John, John's girlfriend, and, above everyone else, himself. He's been pushing it away from six days --it hasn't even been a week-- and he's been telling himself that he's not mad, he's depressed, but the truth is he's so mad that it's difficult to breathe and even the slight explosion against that guy's face isn't enough. Not nearly enough.   
  
He can't feel his hand hit the wall, but he sees it. He watches and he doesn't do a thing to stop himself, not even sure if he can. It's weird, it's like the night he found Sandy with that asshole, and he really lost himself, saw himself hitting the guy and couldn't even stop if he wanted to.   
  
But Brandy's here this time. She grabs his arm, he doesn't even know how many times he's hit the wall, she grabs his arm and pulls him backwards. He's not surprised by her strength. Alcohol and drugs, and anger, and pain, and everything else work against him and he's once again on his ass. This time sitting in the snow and not even feeling the cold through his jeans.   
  
He sits there, looking at his hand, and the snow, anywhere but at her. She still has her hand on his arm.   
  
He thinks everything's blurry because he's close to crying. He can't feel it. He just feels the ache in his chest. The feeling that someone reached in and pulled out his heart, that a part of him is gone forever.   
  
His mouth moves, but the words won't come out. She squats next to him and puts her arm around his shoulders. Before he can control it, he's got his face buried in her shoulder and he has lost the battle against the tears.   
+++   
The End.   
  
Yes, I noticed the similar endings….Oh well. 


End file.
